The Doctor pressed his forehead against the cool glass window. It had been two years since he’d ridden to Reinette’s rescue. Only once had he sensed a time window opening and he’d been distracted. Reinette was particularly talented in that department. By the time he’d gotten his clothes straightened and gotten her off his lap, the window was gone.
He snorted at himself. He and the King of France had shared a lover and all he wanted was to get back to Rose. Rose Marion Tyler, a little British shop girl who was braver, smarter, and more beautiful than the so-called “most accomplished woman on Earth.” The Doctor had admired Madame de Pompadour from a distance. Then, when he’d met her, he’d thought she was the embodiment of his dreams. After spending two years living with her, he realized just how stupid he had been.
Madame du Pompadour was nothing compared to Rose Tyler.
But Rose was gone. Perhaps she had died on that alien ship so far in the future. Perhaps she and Mickey had been rescued. Perhaps they had built a life together. Perhaps they had children and grandchildren. Tears stung his eyes as he thought of Mickey holding Rose while she slept. Mickey holding Rose’s hand while she labored to bear children. Mickey and Rose watching their children play in the sunlight, laughing and loving each other.
He’d never wanted to strangle a human but the thought of Mickey Smith having the life the Doctor wanted made the Time Lord’s fists clench.
Rose Tyler had torn open the TARDIS and gazed upon the Time Vortex to save him. She’d pulled the heart of the TARDIS into her own mind and put an end to the Time War. All to save him. He’d loved her for months before then but seeing her shining with the power of Time itself, he had wanted to fall at her feet and worship. When he’d pressed his lips to hers to save her life, he’d known that he could have died a happy man.
Then he regenerated. And he hadn’t known what to do. Rose had no memory of their kiss. She didn’t even seem to know that he loved her. She’d grown timid and withdrawn. And so he had begun to seek comfort elsewhere even though all he wanted to do was rush into her bedroom, throw himself at the foot of her bed, and beg her to look on him with the same love and trust as she had his previous regeneration. He’d longed to hold her in his arms, to dance with her, and to kiss her until neither one of them could breathe.
And here he was. Stuck in boring old eighteenth century France with a woman who, though intelligent, beautiful, and accomplished, was no match for his Rose.
Pressing his face further against the glass, the Time Lord wept.